Hellsing: Red Plague
by Robin F. Shirewood
Summary: Dark Feelings, evil omens, People are dying by the thousands from an illness that defies science. A plague that some say, marks the return of The First Vampire. Now, the only hope for humanity is Britan's Hellsing Agency, the Vatican's Iscariot, and A Rog
1. Ruins of Nod

Hellsing: Red Plague.

Author's Note: I AM BACK PEOPLES! Yes, I know this isn't Diablo, but rest assured that the completion of the First Act of Diablo IS in the works...If you are curious where I have been, please be sure to check out Diablo- Epic Behind the game on Tuesday October 4th when I make my official comeback.  
Until then, I offer a humble new story that I hope will garner just as much love. I now present this token offering before Diablo... I present Hellsing: Red Plague.

Chapter One: Ruins of Nod

: March 9th:  
: Egypt- 50 kilometers west of Cairo:

: 5:32 AM:

"Did we lose it?" One of the vampires asked in Arabic.

The small jeep shuttered as it rolled over yet another sand dune, shaking the four vampires and the unconscious hostage inside as the vehicle jerked yet again to keep traction in the treacherous, shifting desert sands.

Sarcus, the driver and eldest of this pathetic group, panted as he checked the rear view, his hyper-keen senses still less than trustworthy after what the group had just been though.

Sarcus looked around at the other three, each of whom was nursing either their pierced bodies or their vastly damaged egos.

"Yes." Sarcus replied in his own, somewhat limited, grasp of the language. It was an effort to calm himself as much as the weakling novices in the passenger and back seats. In truth, however, Sarcus couldn't be sure if they were any safer now than they had been an hour ago, when the four survivors had piled into this one jeep with their human captive and set off over the dunes in an all out retreat.

As an elder French vampire, the one hundred and twenty year old Sarcus had been less than thrilled to have been sent out on what SHOULD have been a milk run with nine new-born (and thus inferior) Egyptian Fledglings. Many were only months old and were just beginning to understand the great new powers offered to them by the night and the blood of men.

Still, it should have been a simple task to raid a nearby nomadic village for both food and a single needed "Innocent Sacrifice' for the boss's larger plans. They were just humans after all.

But as the experienced Sarcus had just learned the hard way, NOTHING about this raid had been simple.

Never in his experience did six vampires, not even weak fledglings, all die against one mortal opponent.

Against a master vampire, a Nosferatu, like his boss, certainly…. But NEVER against a human.

"What THE FUCK WAS THAT?" One of the lesser vampires (whose name Sarcus hadn't bothered to remember) spat out in a broken form of French, still wincing from the burns that the fledgling could not yet heal on his own.

"The hell if I know…" Sarcus replied in his own language, possibly throwing off the others who were not yet fluent in his more noble language.

"Never before have I seen a man move like that." The other vampiric fledgling in the passenger seat added. While not injured in the unexpected fray, this firebrand of an Egyptian had not been eager to leave the fight and would have stayed of his own accord had he any choice in the matter.

'Would have stayed…" Sarcus though, '…And would have died.'

"Neither have I…." The eldest of the present vampires admitted. "I have heard rumors and myths of Puppet-Warriors called "Regenerators" used by The Vatican to hunt Demons and Vampires…."

"But…" one of the lower fledgling's in the back seat stammered, "We are Far from Catholic territories… The Vatican has no power….no Interest here…"

"Is that what that was?" The fledgling sitting next to Sarcus in the front seat asked, "A Regenerator?"

"No." Sarcus admitted to himself.

Regenerators (However many there might be in the world) were well known, even if they were considered myths by most since few vampires who faced them lived to tell the tale. The regenerator was the only human weapon powerful enough to stand any chance against a regular vampire. However, they were few and far in-between.

What they had just faced however did not seem to have the berserker qualities or healing abilities that the Vatican-Controlled Regenerator supposedly did.

But what was it then?

Humans didn't vanish into thin air only to reappear nearby….

Humans didn't stand directly in automatic machine gun fire and not take a single hit…

Humans didn't kill Vampires.

Absently, Sarcus looked down at the GPS screen built into the Jeep's Dashboard.  
They were less than an hour away from the Ruins that their master, a greater French vampire named Antoine, had discovered and set up at her new base of operations. They were nearly safe back under the watchful gaze of their master.

Sarcus knew that they were cutting it close however.

Too close….

The last thing that Sarcus wanted to face after the disastrous night he had was the morning sun.

:6:21am:

:Ancient, half-buried ruins:

Sarcus and his remaining vampires arrived at the ruins, having only moments to spare before the ravaging desert sun rose over the eastern dunes of the Sahara. Less than a minute after the four had half dragged, half carried their pitiful catch into the shadows of the dank tomb they had uncovered several nights before, the jeep and sands all around the tomb was bathed in the deadly light.

Sarcus cursed the damnable sun that he had turned away from more than a century ago. If it were not for this pathetic weakness, his kind would have brought domination over this miserable planet long ago, never allowing the obsessive forces of the Vatican to develop enemies as formidable as the Regenerators.

Shaking his head, the elder vampire merely sighed, realizing that such retrospect was useless. Like his lesser brethren, Sarcus moved deeper into the long forgotten tombs.

Had he only stayed a few moments longer, the vampire's keen senses might have heard the faint clicking of a buckle coming undone and saw the shadow drop from the undercarriage of the jeep.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Quit your pathetic stammering and make sense ,Sarcus." The Nosferatu Antonie, a rather beautiful and busty dark haired woman who was a hundred times Sarcus' superior, bade her most powerful lieutenant, her fingers absently stroking the curved dagger that she kept with her at all times. "Panic simply does not suit you."

"For…forgive me, my mistress." Sarcus shook visibly. In his previous fear of being caught by the sunlight, the vampire had not given any real thought of what he could tell his mistress of this monumental failure. He had hoped that the bound and gagged 'innocent' that he had brought would take the mistress' mind off of any more obvious questions such as "Where were the others?" Unfortunately, he had been mistaken.

"Where are the others?" Antonie repeated, her sweet voice, Sarcus understood, held a trace amount of venom. The greater vampiress had many qualities: She was a seducer, a powerful warrior, and an accomplished thinker.

But patience and understanding were not among her virtues.

"Dead, my mistress." Sarcus tried to say as calmly and unemotionally as possible.

He didn't care that the ridiculously weak fledglings had died, of course, but he also didn't care for the fact that they had been considered HIS responsibility.

"Oh, really?" Antonie raised one eyebrow in a way that made part of Sarcus want to crawl into a deep dark hole. Unfortunately, he found the other part of himself turned on by the danger that the Mistress's stare entailed.

"And HOW, pray tell, did THAT happen?" The greater vampire asked incredulously, "Did you begin fighting each other over the best pieces of meat in that spit of a village? Or did all six of the fools trip and fall on wooden stakes that happened to be poking up out of the desert sand?"

"They were slain…" Sarcus explained shortly.

"Slain?" Antonie's eyebrow rose again, looking at her subservient with amusement. "Do these primitives even have pitchforks in this wasteland? What? Were you overwhelmed with the sheer number of the human herd?"  
She snickered for a moment before her expression turned deathly serious.

"There were less than thirty dirty, half-starved, lower dreg humans in that so called tribe." Now the venom in the mistress's voice was thick enough to kill lesser men.

"If we were in France or England where vampiric lore was better known, THEN I might be able to believe that they came across fools wise enough to break out stakes and garlic to dispatch the lessers. But do you expect me to believe that six children of the night were killed by THESE ignorant Gypsy savages!"

"It was not so simple…" Sarcus managed to say, fighting to keep from shivering under his mistress's harsher tones. "It was…something else."

Antonie looked down at Sarcus inquisitively, allowing him to continue.

Two of the lesser vampires, who had been simple young porter boys only a month before when the powerful Mistress and her consort came to their country, walked about the still dusty and dark tomb, speaking frankly in their native tongue as they held their SMG's (sub-machine guns) close in the flickering torchlight.

"No food… not even blood to keep our strength up. Almost makes me wish that we had chosen to die like the others." One said, referring of course to the four porters who had refused the Mistresses unholy offer and died moments later with Allah's name on their lips.

"You could have stayed behind and let the Regenerator grant that request." The other (who had been sitting in the passenger seat of the jeep a while ago) offered, more than a bit annoyed at his companion's complaining.   
Sure, he was upset about the lack of food and the power-granting blood that he had come to enjoy. But the way he saw it, it was a pittance for the strength and power that they had gained. He in particular would have taken up the mistress on her offer even if his death wasn't certain if he didn't.

So what if he could never see the sun again.  
Daylight was over rated in any case.

"The master said that it was not a Regenerator…"

"Sarcus is NOT our master." The second vampire countered the first, turning about to realize that his companion was shaking rather badly, and his fine machine gun rattling slightly in his quivering hand.  
"Are you 'afraid' of this… human?" He asked, his tone mocking the obviously shaken vampire.

"You were left in the jeep." The first countered. "You did not see did not see it move… did not see the others burn and fall…"

"If I had been there, I would not have run like a dog with tail between my legs." The arrogant vampire waved his hand dismissively. "Sarcus is both a coward and a fool. I would…."

The vampire stopped short as his ears (far more sensitive than they had EVER been in life) heard something strange.

A footstep against the worn, jagged stones.

Both vampires turned at once to the sound, lifting their weapons and taking aim down the corridor.

One held the devastating machine gun firmly, more than ready to let loose a barrage of unstoppable lead projectiles.

The other, however, could barely keep the weapon in his hand, shaking badly from the unexpected noise and unable to come to grip with what he had seen before.

If this was what he feared, the shaken vampire knew that he would not stop until he ran out of bullets. He would not give this 'human' a chance.

The tension held in the air for a moment. The more sturdy of the two mentally berating his cowardly comrade before he heard the sound again.  
Another footstep echoed up the corridor.

Both vampires, neither knowing enough about their newfound prowess to see beyond what they knew in life, were surprised as the moving echoes grew closer and louder to their ears and a shadowy figure boldly strode into their line of sight.

The more fearful of the two did not hesitate for a moment.

Screaming out in surprise and raising his weapon in one hand, the vampire pulled back on the trigger with all his strength, easily snapping the piece of metal and jamming it in place. After less than a second, the other vampire fired as well, knowing that if this was Sarcus or their other former porter friend, that any damage would not be permanent.

Bullets rang out as the thunderous sounds of the two weapons rang all throughout the caverns. Soon, the bullets stopped when both clips ran empty. Both vampires, one grinning manically and the other shaking, stopped and lowered their weapons for a moment.

"You see?" The grinning undead remarked. "Just another human."

The grin faded quickly though as the two looked in the direction they had been firing.

Bullet-holes and debris from the broken, pitted walls lined the corridor for as far as the two could see. However their target was gone… Simply vanished.

"What the hell?" The grin faded quickly.  
He may not have been human anymore…but he was certain that when men died…they left their bodies behind…covered in blood and riddled with holes.

"Allah…" The other shuttered, his weapon falling to the ground as he too realized that the figure had disappeared…  
Just as it had back in the village.

So distracted and fearful was he by the missing corpse, the vampire hardly registered when a surprisingly soft, round object struck him in the back. Hearing the thud as the object fell unceremoniously to the ground, the quivering vampire turned about and looked down.

On the uneven stone floor of the underground ruin, the former porter from Cairo cried out loud in terror as he recognized the face under the blood matted hair and gaping look of fear.

Their last remaining brethren, who's duty had been to watch the entrance.

The cry drew the attention of the other vampire who, upon turning back and seeing the grossly severed head on the ruined floor, ejected his clip and quickly inserted another one from his belt.

Almost as soon as the metal clip clicked into place, another click came from behind, followed by a strange 'whooshing' sound that the steadier vampire could not identify until it was too late.

One last cry, begging Allah for forgiveness, escaped the frightened, reluctant vampire's suddenly blood soaked lips as he fell, quite dead, to the floor, a seemingly simple piece of sharpened wood protruding from the left side of his chest.

The last remaining vampire's eyes went wide at the spectacle as he saw smoke rising from the wound.  
Now, fear suddenly filling the once arrogant vampire's mind, he took no chance, turning back in the direction from which the devastating bolt had come and opening a random, sweeping line of fire all down the corridor.

After a moment, the bullets ran out once again and the panting Egyptian vampire ejected the empty clip once again and started to retrieve a new one.

His arm never made it as a burst of light and flame engulfed his arm, knocking the exhausted weapon from his grasp and forcing the vampire to turn back around, facing away from the direction the wooden stake had come from.

Had he not been screaming due to the fact that his arm had caught fire, he might have gasped at the man with deep set, violet eyes and dark red hair pulled back into a pony tail standing not ten feet in front of him, hands aglow with an odd orange color. He was of a fair skin, most likely European… perhaps even an American, wearing a pair of simple brown, kaki like pants, a white shirt, and a long, concealing black overcoat.

The vampire panicked, his arms flailing around and spreading the flame up his immolating arm.

The man with the red hair and purple eyes stood back calmly as the vampire burned for a second, then, muttering under his breath, brought both hands up again. Orange-red lines formed around them, swirling faster and faster until curling, dancing balls of flame ignited into being, hovering only inches away from the human's white gloves.

In an instant, the man's hands shot forward several times, each motion launching a projectile of pure flame that struck and seemed to explode on the flailing vampire and engulf him with the fire.

After a few more moments, the screams stopped and the vampire's body fell to the floor, a charred blacked husk still alive but unable to move. His eyes, the only part of the vampire's immortal body that was still moving looked up to the red-haired man that now stood over him.

From under the dark overcoat came a weapon unlike anything the vampire had ever seen before. About the size of a Rocket Launcher that he had seen in an American movie once, and held like the much simpler shotgun, it was a fearsome sight to behold as the end was pointed down at the prone and paralyzed vampire's chest.

"Time to die…." Were the simple, but un-mistakable words, followed by a slight click, and a fearsome whoosh.

Then it was all black.

:40 seconds earlier:

"How many?"

Sarcus looked up inquisitively, not quite sure what his mistress was asking. He had recounted the entire fiasco at the tribal village

"How many were there? You say the attack came from all directions. That you could not pin down where these blessed stakes and bolts of fire came from. All I want to know is HOW MANY attacked you?"

Sarcus quivered in spite of himself, looking over to the squirming sacrifice, trying to take comfort in the fact that at least he had completed the task that he had been sent out for.

"I am uncertain…" Sarcus' voice carried little sincerity, a fact that Antonie picked up on immediately given a burst of intensity from her cold, soulless eyes.

"My best guess…" The male vampire stammered again, "Maybe…one…"

That opened the mistresses' eyes considerably.

"One?"

The interrogation ended suddenly as the sounds of screams and gunfire echoed in the distance. Surprised and confused, the two experienced vampires turned to the only entrance to this deep chamber while the automatic gunfire died for a moment, only to begin again, this time accompanies with further screams of terror. It was the unmistakable voice of one of the fledglings that Antonie had turned only a month ago when they had first come to this place and Antonie had begun her obsession with the vault-like tomb and old markings.

That obsession now seemed like a long forgotten memory as the burning orbs of his mistress's soulless eyes burned into him.

"You allowed yourself to be FOLLOWED!" Antonie hissed.

"Impossible…" Sarcus stuttered. "No vehicle could move so quietly over the dunes to keep track of us…."

"Get out of my sight, you worthless bag of flesh!" The vamperess commanded, turning away. "I will deal with this supposed threat that drove you away myself."

Sarcus (having no intention of reliving the massacre that would ensue either way) slinked away without another moment's though.

If his mistress won out, Sarcus would surely be punished for his ineptitude.  
If this… Creature defeated the Nosferatu (an event that Sarcus could not dismiss as easily as Antonie) then he would be quite fortunate indeed if he could escape with his life.

The purple eyed, red haired Vampire Hunter pulled back and quickly reloaded his weapon with another "special" stake.  
The entire exchange had taken about 30 seconds by his count.

More than 10 seconds longer that he had hoped. Now that those damn guns had fired, the entire Ruin likely knew that he was here.

The weaker fledglings were all out of the way and from what he had been able to tell, there had been no ghouls. Now, all he hoped he had were the two older, and more experienced vampires to worry about.

It struck him as strange for a moment that the 'master' who had sired these fledglings had been able to find so many older virgins to bring into her fold. He knew that it must have been a vampiress from the simple fact that all the fledglings he had encountered so far had been male.

It was so strange for a master to create so many free-willed undead and no ghouls.

Quietly, slipping his weapon back into his cloak and muttering under his breath, the Vampire Hunter moved down the unexplored corridor, hoping that these meager vampire's Masters had decided to go to sleep early.

"Oh… awake now are we?" Antonie cooed sweetly in French to her 'guest'.

The prisoner from the nomatic village, a young gypsy girl, was barely fourteen with long black hair tangled and encrusted with sand. She could only whimper and struggle against her gag and tight bindings.

Antonie couldn't hide a small smile when she noted the warm, tear filled eyes looking up at her, pleading silently for help.

So frightened.

So innocent.

So Perfect.

"Don't you worry little one," Antonie snickered in her sing-song voice, knowing full and well that the ignorant child couldn't understand a word of the more civilized language. "Your death may be slow and arduous… but rest assured that you are taking part in something that will shake the world, little dear."

No amount of sweet words or loving tone could sooth the child when Antonie grinned widely, her often used fangs gleaming in the torchlight that filled the room.

The fear in the little gypsy girl was obvious and complimented as the child pulled back, whimpering and thrashing back to get away from the evil, loathsome creature.

Antonie did not pursue the tasty looking morsel into its corner. She had all the time in the world as far as she was concerned. The child had no hope of escape, but there was no reason to let that on to the little mortal just yet. After all, Antonie did so enjoy the smell and energy generated by human fear.

"Just one minor matter to attend to, dear child…" Antonie stood to her full height, the full, dusty suit that she had brought with her adding to her aura of control.

The aura was only strengthened when she calmly walked over to the pile of cases and supplies in the opposite corner of the room and produced a devastating looking AK-47. "And then we can begin and fulfill both of our purposes."

"Indeed…" A strong, unfamiliar male voice echoed down the corridor and into the room, surprising the vampiress more than a bit.  
Why had she not heard or smelt this fool coming?

"She can go back to her family…and you can become a puddle of blood in the forgotten ruin." The voice got stronger with every word and, as Antonie's senses could easily distinguish, he came ever closer.

"English?" Antonie mused out loud in her native French. Though she understood and could speak the language quite fluently, he refused to lower herself so. Amused and still somewhat perplexed by the fact that she had yet to pick up this mysterious intruder's scent, she held back for a moment longer. "A language I have not heard in quite sometime."

"Nor are you likely to again" The voice grew stronger and, for the first time, Antonie saw the mystery man as he strode boldly into the opening.

The vampiress was fully taken aback when she saw him. He was human; there was no doubt about that, a young and foolishly confident one at that judging by his bold, almost cocky posture. Even pitch black night, much less this flickering light, the nosferatu's 'Third Eye' was more than capable of making out every detail of the red haired man's sharp features and deep violet eyes. He seemed almost purposely disheveled as well, his clothing carelessly loose and wrinkled.

Under most circumstances, Antonie would have laughed out loud at the thought that THIS was a threat. However, she had known Sarcus for more than a hundred years and had NEVER seen him react so fearfully to anything until he had come back to her earlier that day.

Even more confusing was that her enhanced sense of smell still could not register the human that she could now see so plainly. At this distance, the vampiress could clearly hear his heart beat, easily distinguish his breathing pattern.

"And…You are?" Antonie held her weapons limply in one hand, hoping that her relaxed looking position would entice the human to charge or otherwise attack her.

The human was silent for a moment.

"I swear, human…if you say you are Justice or Death, I might just die laughing." Antonie chuckled, once more hoping to keep the mysterious human off balance.

"Death's Hand of Justice?" The human merely shrugged, his demeanor unthreatening and a slight, ridiculous smirk on his face as if he were honestly hoping that very thing would come to pass.

Antonie humored the human for a moment, bursting out in a seemingly good natured laugh.

She stopped abruptly; her facial expression going from mirthful smile to a maniacal grin as she bolted forward, faster than any human eye could dare hope to follow.

In less time than it took to blink, Antonie was less than six inches from the intruder's face.

Oh, how the nosferatu enjoyed seeing this one's angular face distort in shock and confusion. She savored it for less than half a second before bringing her weapon down on the fool's head with all of her dark given strength.

As the arm came down, Antonie lamented for a second that her machine gun would probably be destroyed by the sheer force and all messy from the human's brain matter, but oh well… she didn't care for guns anyways.

She preferred to crush her victims.

One could only imagine the experienced vampire's surprise when the weapon met with no resistance and she nearly tripped over herself as she overbalanced.

"Wha…?" For the first time in her three hundred years walking under the night sky, Antonie was truly confused.

The man had been here only half a second ago. No human could POSSIBLY move that fast.

But, somehow, at the last moment, he had disappeared completely.

Simply vanished….

"You know…." The still relaxed voice came from directly behind the vampire, who snapped aback around instantly, surprise apparent when she saw the dark violet orbs looking back at her, standing where she had been only a moment before. "You might want to think about therapy, because I'm picking up some anger issues. Also, is it the wrong time of the month? Normally you blood-suckers have more patience than that."

Antonie's eyes widened, twitching as she heard the thinly veiled insult. Her teeth and fangs now grinded together and she could feel the veins in her forehead pounding.

She would not suffer such treatment from any other vampire…much less an ignoble human cow!

Now, feeling that she understood this human's unique and unexplainable tactics, she rushed forward again, and was only inches away from him yet again. Now, she brought the butt of her weapon up again, pulling down suddenly as if she were going to smash the human's head again, but pulling the weapon around at the last second to aim back to the door. Randomly, the Nosferatu opened several burst of fire, feeling confident that the human would have disappeared and pulled back again to relative safety.

Bullets pitted and chipped away at the ancient stone walls, while the vampiress turned about, her free arm swinging in a solid arc to strike down the pathetic human if for some reason he remained in his current place.

Once more, shock and utter disbelief took hold of the vampiress' mind when she had turned half way and realized that neither her free swinging arm nor any of her bullets had hit the mark.

And as her eyes confirmed only milliseconds later, they did not hit the mark because the human was now standing to the side of her, facing the vampire while her weapon was still aimed at the door and her arm pulled down to her side.

And more importantly, the human's alien looking weapon was up, held firmly against his shoulder, and aimed directly at her chest.

Antonie managed only a slight gasp of surprise before she heard the click and felt a two foot long, burning projectile pierce her left breast, practically impaling the vampire. Her entire upper body felt as if it were immediately engulfed in flames. And it took almost another second for the vampiress to realize that she had, for the first time, been staked… by a blessed bolt, no less, probably a broken and remade bit of some holy relic.

Antonie stood amazed for a moment at how perfectly the human had predicted her moves… how simple and yet absolutely brilliant the strategy had been.

And mostly she stood in stark relief that the foolish human knew so little about her.

One of her chief surprises, one thing that had kept her alive again and again over the centuries of battling other vampires and dealing with less than valiant would-be vampire hunters had been her most unusual anatomy.

Most notably the fact that her heart was on the OTHER side of her chest.

The vampiress laughed out loud again, ignoring the blazing pain that burned though her upper body and chest. One thing that she had to admit, her respect for this unorthodox human was growing by the moment.  
It was a feeling she did not wish to cultivate any further.  
Not wasting a moment of her advantage as the red haired vampire hunter's eyes widened in surprise, Antonie brought her gun arm around again, pulling back the trigger with all abandon lost, emptying the clip at the confused and vulnerable human hunter.

But the flying metal, it would seem, was a poor choice.

With her movement slowed by the blessed stake, the human hunter had an extra moment before the bullets flew and, in response, raised his hand in an awkward, uncomfortable looking position, and began to mutter under his breath softly in a tongue that even the learned Antonie did not understand.

Shock was again Antonie's as the bullets began to go awry. Those that flew straight for the intended target suddenly launched of to the side, their trajectories bending AROUND the human to impact into the dry, almost powdery stone wall.

Every single one that even came near the muttering man twisted fully, purposely, out of its way to avoid him.

Now, pained and shaken up beyond anything that she had known in her long, striking existence, Antonie ceased her fire and heaved the useless gun at the human with all her might. Not surprisingly, the red haired human ducked down out of the way, his muttering stopped and the once awkwardly positioned hand slipped into the wrinkled black coat to pull out another almost two foot long stake from inside his concealing coat and loaded it into the strange weapon.

Antonie took this moment to gain her own advantage.  
Learning from her past mistake, she did not try to rush the slippery human, nor did she simply move forward to engage in closer ranged combat. In truth, the vampiress was most cautious, not wanting to discover any more of this one's inhuman tricks if she could help it.  
Anyone who was so well prepared must have had something else up his sleeve to neutralize the vampire's obvious advantage in hand to hand combat.

So instead of advancing, Antonie jumped backward, pulling out her blade, a curved foot and a half long dagger that she kept for her own amusement, and pulling up the gypsy girl from the village where Sarcus had met this inexplicable human several hours before.

Just as the human managed to raise his alien weapon towards the vampire again, Antonie brought the whimpering gypsy girl up to her feet, the blade pressed against her throat.

The two sets of eyes locked…. The vampire's blood red pools filled with pain and loathing; while the dark violet orbs of the human hunter wracked with a sudden indecision.

For a few, long moments, the only sound that could be heard was the whimpering of the gypsy girl as she tried of very hard to not move with the razor sharp blade pressing against her exposed neck.

"What…'ARE'… you?" Antonie forced each word out, the burning, blessed stake taking it's toll on as her own blood, almost boiling from the burning stake's touch, dribbled down the corner of her lip. The wound was not fatal to her as a vampire, she realized. But the longer she remained impaled upon it, the weaker Antonie realized she would become.

"A Vatican dog? A mercenary looking for a new combat high? Your skills are far more than this forsaken wasteland warrants"

The red haired human stood again, his movement making Antonie press the blade even tighter against the girl's neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Stay back, Human… or she dies right now."

A grin danced upon Antonie's lips again when she saw the vampire hunter's hesitation. As often was their fatal flaw, this supremely skilled and aptly prepared hunter had a soft spot for the weak and suffering.

How delicious, Antonie thought, her grin growing as the hunter lowered his arcane weapon from his shoulder and aimed the nozzle to the ground.

"Drop it!" Antonie commanded, her tone growing more confident and her French words coming more easily to her lips.

The vampiress truly enjoyed the helpless look on the hunter's angular face as he took the weapon in one hand and held it at arm's length out to the side while the other was held up in a surrendering pose.

Now, victory assured, Antonie sneered at the formidable hunter, confident that she had found the weakness she needed to survive.

That sneer quickly became a gurgle of surprise when, as unexpectedly as anything else that had happened over the past minute and a half, a stinging orange light, followed by a gout of fire erupted from the human's raised hand even while he dropped the weapon as told.

Already slowed by the cursed stake that still protruded from her chest, Antonie could not pull aside fast enough to dodge the unexplainable fire and caught the bolt of flame fully in her arm.

The arm that held the blade to the gypsy child's throat.

All too predictably, the frightened child panicked as her captor's arm burst into flame and, feeling the blade pull away from her vital throat, attempted to pull away. Antonie, no stranger to the whims of the desperate hostage, used her dark strength to easily hold the girl in front of her. But, now injured as she was both by this ravaging fire that crawled up her arm and the embedded, still smoldering blessed stake, she could not long control her knife wielding left hand and drew a long cut across her hostage's shoulder and arm, drawing a cry from the girl and spilling the human's blood far sooner than she had intended.

Heat ravaging her from both her arm and chest, Antonie could hardly focus on her surroundings. Pain and anger throbbed in her temples while she gripped tighter on the child's arm, easily crushing the bone and putting the girl on her knees in agony.

Again, Antonie forced her senses to focus beyond the anger, beyond the pain that was threatening to over whelm her, and back to what had caused this torment.

Now she realized that, in her distracted moment, the hunter had dropped to the floor almost on his back, catching the weapon before it could fall to the ground and now had the barrel aimed up again, pointed at his vampiric prey.

Intuition told Antonie that this was little more than a bluff. After all, she had the girl child up now right in front of her; her weeping, sobbing, pathetic face between the vampire's oddly placed heart and the hunter's oddly designed weapon.

It was not until she heard the weapon cock that the vampiress realized that the nozzle of the weapon was not aimed at her heart…but at her head.

The weapon kicked back, exploding loudly now instead of silently launching another stake. Faster than even a vamiric eye could move, a single, rather large bullet fired from the same barrel that had earlier launched the devastating stake.

Half an instant later, the vampiress's head rocked back, the metal slug burrowing straight into her skull and making lights explode behind her eyes.

Now, pain that could easily kill a man wracked her body, her already sluggish nerves pulsing with heat and filling her skin with an odd pins-and-needles sensation.

This, she realized, would heal in time, and once more, she put everything she had into focusing on her assailant and holding tightly onto her hostage.

The hunter now sat on the ground, his legs spread out before him and weapon put down to the side. How vulderable a position he had gone into for the shot he had taken.

Now, all of his hopeful defenses were compromised. How utterly pointless his head shot now seemed. The fire along her arm too had gone out and already, Antonie could feel the burns and wounds healing.

"You FOOL!" Antonie sneered in her native tongue again, blood pouring from her mouth with every syllable. "Bullets are USELESS against a Vampire!"

Now, Antonie was seriously unnerved when the human hunter looked up at her, a sly gleam in his eyes and an equally sly smirk on his lips. Only absently did Antonie notice the Hunter's subtle hand movement at the base of his weapon, much less the nearly inaudible pressing of the small red button on the bottom of the clip.

"True." The hunter replied wittingly, "Normal bullets are useless…"

Antonie, a Nosferatu who had lived three hundred years by her strength and superior wit, never heard the end of the hunter's explanation. All she could hear was a slight beeping in her skull….

…And then her head exploded in a bloody shower of bone fragments and liquefied brain matter.

"…But these are HARDLY 'normal' bullets." The red-haired hunter got up while the vampire's body fell lifelessly to the floor, pulling his weapon close to him and replacing it seamlessly into his coat. When he looked back, no one could have ever guessed that he was carrying such a large weapon. Now, his immediate task done, the vampire hunter went over to the girl.

Whimpering, her tear soaked face and quick prayers to any god who would listen would have told a blind and deaf man that she was in pain. As quickly as he could, he looked the girl over to see how badly she was hurt. None of the vampires had bitten her it looked like, that much was an immediate relief. And the most obvious wound, the blood dripping knife cut along the girl's exposed arm and shoulder seemed mostly superficial and would heal in time. More urgent in the Vampire Hunter's mind was the poor child's arm, the humerus crushed in at least two places by the lady vampire's merciless grip.

The girl would be lucky if she could ever use the arm again.

Feeling that the best bet for the child would be to get to a hospital in Cairo as quickly as possible, the hunter got up and moved quickly, getting things ready to go.

After removing his stake from the vampiress' heart (and wondering why the first shot had not disabled the monster to begin with) the hunter made sure there was no chance of her getting up again, using the long, curved blade the vampire had used to torment the Egyptian girl to more cleanly sever what was left of the vampire's head from her neck. Now, more relaxed he looked around the room and took a closer look at the enigmatic inscriptions on the far wall, facing away from the door.

Strange, these were not hieroglyphics, but given his more urgent task of getting the child to safety, the vampire hunter did not spend more than a moment looking over the engravings himself. Instead, reaching back into his black coat, the purple eyed hunter pulled out a small digital camera. Several flashes later, when he was sure he managed to get all of the inscriptions in the room on the camera's memory; he put it away and went to pick the girl up.

Here Sarcus stood, much as he had since after his mistress had cast him aside, only a few feet from the jeep that had brought him back to this place and the devastating sunlight of the desert morning.

From this spot, he had concentrated and listened to the entire exchange between the enigmatic hunter and his powerful mistress. And yet, despite her power and forewarning, she had been caught off guard by the intruder's skill.

Now, she was dead, and Sarcus was alone.

Had it been night time, the vampire would had not hesitated to rush to the jeep and drive away over the moon lit dunes.  
However, in this deadly time of light, he felt powerless.

Unable to leave.

Fearing to stay.

Even worse, he stood in a ruin of stone. If only the flooring here had been made of sand. Then, he could simply bury himself until the sun went down and then move from there. But there was no sand or even ground here for the vampire to bury himself in here, at least, none that was untouched by the golden, damning rays of the sun.

Fearful for his un-life and knowing full and well that there was nowhere to hide in the simplistic, mostly blocked off ruin's mazes. Simple halls and corridors offered no solice to the desperate, cornered nosferatu.

"Your choice, midian…"

The words hit Sarcus harder than a cannonball, spinning him around to face his assailant.

There stood his terror.

The Red-Haired Vampire hunter that had challenged him in the nomatic village. The one that had destroyed so many of the fledglings AND his fearsome mistress now stood in the corridors, facing out into the light and into Sarcus, the arcane stake launcher weapon in one hand, and the gypsy girl that Sarcus had personally chosen to bring back to his mistress held up in the other.

But everything else was lost when his gaze fell upon those dark, harsh purple orbs.

"It's the sunlight…or me. Take your choice vampire."

Sarcus didn't have to be given the choice again.

As quickly as he could, the vampire pulled off his black jacket, threw it over himself, and charged out into the burning sand.

Rushing out, praying to any power that might listen that he could get though without allowing the damaging light to touch his skin, Sarcus dove towards the jeep and managed to get a hand on the door handle.

Just as he was feeling he might ACTUALLY escape, Sarcus heard the fearful whoosh.

"That, however…" The hunter shook his head, lowering his weapon as the vampire's coat was knocked from his hand and the one hundred and fifty year old vampire was immolated in the morning sun.

"…would be MY ride."

The blood left in that seemingly empty chamber of the ruin refused to dry.

Instead, the pooled, dripping life's blood of the vampire Antonie was…pulled. Drawn to the center of the room, oozing into the barely noticeable trench etched so many hundreds of thousands of years ago.

In mere moments, the blood of the Vampire Antonie was within the triangular trench, filling a single piece of the strange symbol carved into the floor.

Without warning, the blood of the damned began to glow a dark, deep shade of red.

Now, another much less abundant spackling of blood began to move. Droplets and spray from the young girl's shoulder and arm to moved inexplicabily towards the center of the room. And, in a matter of a few minutes, filled the much smaller symbol within the symbol.

In the moment that both triangular shapes were filled with the blood, a new glow, darker, a color not seen by mortals in eons filled the room.

And the portal, seamlessly sealed for millennia beyond human remembrance, cracked ever so slightly open.

Here, an Evil forced asleep for untold eons stirred….

And sent its strength forth though the cracked door.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Lay down and try not to move." The hunter allowed himself a glance back, seeing the young girl clutching at her injured arm and shoulder. She couldn't understand him of course, and the vampire hunter's grasp of the language was far too limited to comfort her further. The crude tourniquet that he had ripped up from the vamperiess' suit would have to do until they could find a real doctor. Right now he had to hope that it would be enough for the long drive to civilization.

Still the important thing in the Hunter's mind was that the girl was safe and the vampires were dust.  
Emphasis on the fact that the vampires were dust.

As long as there were no complications, they would be able to make it back to Cairo before dark.

As this thought passed his mind, the hunter's ears perked as he heard what he could only describe as a very well muffled explosion.

"What the hell…?" The hunter looked up and around until the image in the side mirror caught his eye. The ruin, only just barely within visual range, disappeared under a wave of sand, buried yet again under the merciless Sahara.

He was curious of course. Had the vampires wired the place to blow up? That didn't make any sense as there would have been no way to escape. Midians were not often the suicidal type and even if they were, why die for THAT hunk of rock in the sand.

All of this suddenly seemed pointless when the hunter realized that the wave of sand was not limited to the ruin.

Rippling outward like the shockwave of an atomic bomb, the sand was thrown into the air, creating what looked like solid wall of sand.

Worse of all, it was quickly catching up to the roofless jeep.

"Mary, Mother of…" The Hunter caught himself, gritting his teeth and pushing the accelerator to the limit just as the wall of sand edged the jeeps bumper.

"HOLD ON!"

At this point, the hunter realized again just how much he hated complications.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

:March 9th:

: England- Hellsing Agency Headquarters:

:Private Study of Sir Integra Wingate Helsing:

: 10:57 PM:

"This is it Alucard…" The white haired director of Hellsing Agency smirked slyly, uneasing her opponent. "End game, Midian. You always knew that it would end like this."

"She is quite right, Alucard." Walter shook his head, snickering between words, "You have no hope of getting past her this time. It would be best if you were to just lie down and accept your fate."

Seras Victoria, Alucard's Fledgling Vampire and a former police girl could hardly believe the intensity of the showdown and kept back, not sure weather to side with the respected Director of Hellsing Agency or her Master Alucard, to whom she owed her "Life" and felt an irresistible urge to serve.

"You should know better, My Master…." Alucard, the vampire known as The No-Life King replied with an equally confident smirk. "You don't have the guns or the nerve to take me down."

"You are so certain?" Integra Helsing spoke with all the obvious authority and conviction of her lofty position as Hellsing's Director. "You are not as invulnerable as you seem to believe, Alucard. And now…You're luck has run out. Any last words?"

The tension saturated the air as Master and Monster locked eyes, neither giving an inch.

In the years that past since she had first found the Midian that had become the Trump card of her monster hunting Helsing Agency, Integra had come to respect the vampire greatly. But all of that was moot now.  
As she waited for him to make his decision, she realized that, at last, she had him beaten.

And for The No-Life King there could be no escape.

Alucard's arm came out suddenly, snapping forward so quickly that any no human onlooker could have caught it.

"CALL!" The Nosferatu declared, and in that same instant, twenty bright purple plastic chips scattered the multi-color pile in the center of the small table.

Integra smiled, looking over her glasses in confidence at the calling amount, Well over 10,000 Pounds in value, but still a pittance compared to the combined prize.  
"You first Al."

Triumphant and smug as always, the Vampire threw down his hand, revealing the cards that had been the subject of the last twenty tense minutes.

"Just a little full house, My Master." Alucard smiled menacingly, his fangs bared in plain few as he brought the packet of A positive blood he had been snacking on up to his lips.

"Two fine Royal Air Force Aces and their three planes, Jack Heart, Jack Spade, and Jack Club."

"Full house, Aces and Jacks" Walter translated, pushing the green tinted dealer's shade higher up on his forehead to keep his Monocle from reflecting the cards that were in his hand. He had folded long ago, leaving Sir Integra and Alucard to their battle of wit, and now it had seemed that Alucard had indeed won.

"That is a very fine hand…" Sir Integra nodded sadly, her face a mask of confusion. "And here I thought you were bluffing."

"HA!" Alucard blurted out, immediately leaning forward to collect the winning that he felt he had won.

"And to THINK all I have is a Winston Churchhill, King Edward, Queen Victoria, Prince Charles, and Princess Diana wearing diamonds…. Poor poor me."

"Yah…poor.." The vampire stopped grasping at the plastic chips in the center, with a look almost along the lines of horror, The Nosferatu Alucard realized what his master was saying.

"Royal Straight Flush, Ace though 10 of Diamonds." Walter translated with a widening smile while Sir Integra reached forward, mocking Al's earlier grandstanding position and scooping the plastic chips to her side of the table.

"Very well Played Sir Integra." Seras congratulated Hellsing's Director. Having kept quiet until now, she drew an evil glare from her master, which caused her to break out immediately in a cold sweat.   
"Of course, you did very well too master…" She stammered, running a gloved hand though her carrot-red hair.

"Police girl…" Alucard shook his head, keeping down the fury he felt and not instantly lash out. Damn Integra for making him read those anger management books. "… Shut up."

"But Master… I just…"

Seras never finished the sentence as her body was suddenly wracked in an intense, burning agony. Crying out from the sudden pain, Seras fell from her chair and began to writhe on the floor, loosing her voice after the initial shock and twitching uncontrollably.

"Seras? SERAS?" Integra leaped to her feet, the childish feeling of victory over Alucard instantly forgotten as she rushed to help the young vampire twitching wildly on the floor.

"WHOA!" Alucard jumped to his feet, his hands and arms shaking as if he had been given a powerful electro-shock.

Walter was immediately up and at the nosferatu's side while Integra quickly moved to hold Sera's head still as the vampiress convulsed on the floor. While Integra knew that a broken neck wouldn't be fatal to the vampire, it would take be exceedingly painful and probably take weeks to heal.

"What was that?" Walter asked the nosferatu, who was still twitching erratically.

"I don't know." Alucard shook his head, a confused look on his face. "Integra…"

The vampire had the attention of Helsing's Director in an instant.

"Something has happened." Alucard said, "I don't know what, but somewhere…..Something has happened.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:March 9th:

: Egypt- Cairo:

:St. Luke's Charity Hospital:

: 11:57 PM:

Doctor Johan Salt had seen many things in his time in Egypt. He had seen dregs from the lowest lanes of poverty die of things that doctors in England, France, and America didn't even consider fatal. He had seen men twisted from years of hard work in a harsh desert trek as many as a hundred kilometers in deadly heat to discuss a simple rash. He had also been harassed as an 'Infidel' and threatened with force several times for his chosen faith.  
Superstition was still rampant here, as were snake-oil salesmen and so-called magicians in this part of the world playing doctor.  
But that was why he was here. As a devout catholic, he thought he could make a difference in the way the uneducated masses saw the world and his religion. And as a doctor, thought he could help those already suffering here.

Doctor Johan Salt had seen many things in his time in Egypt, but THIS really took the cake.

It had started half an hour earlier when the most beat up, sand encrusted jeep he had ever seen drove up to the corner and a pale, equally sand encrusted red-haired man brought a young native girl into the hospital in his arms.

The man was quite when the doctors took the girl in and cleaned her up. She was hurt pretty badly, the doctor realized, but she would easily live though it. The gash on her shoulder was superficial; no where near as bad as it looked with the sand encrusted blood and the crude, near ruined tourniquet.  
The young woman's other arm was another story. The bone had been crushed and would never heal completely. But still, with a few hours of reconstructive surgery, the young girl would likely live to a ripe old age even with the injury barring disease and murder.

But the girl was not what stuck out in the good doctor's mind; it was the man that caught his attention.  
At first, when he first came in he said nothing. After much prodding as to details, the red haired man replied that they had been caught in a sandstorm and that her family should be notified, but then left after giving the doctor the name of the girl's makeshift village. Both the doctor and the resident head priest, Father Montgomery were surprised he returned a short time later carrying a rather large case and a laptop computer.

Every now and then, the doctor and the priest would take notice of the red-haired man sitting in the lobby with his computer and what looked like a digital camera and (more than once) Dr. Salt noticed the man taking a deep drink of something from a flask that he quickly hid in his cloak. Though curious, Dr. Salt kept a level of professionalism and did not bother the grim, preoccupied American (At least, that was what the good doctor deduced from his obvious accent and perfect grasp of the language). Still, the doctor could not help but wonder.

Why had this man braved a sandstorm to help a native girl?  
How had she been injured? The wounds were obviously not accidental, but Dr. Salt had never seen anything that could crush a bone so fully without breaking the skin. Bruises suggested a handprint, but no man on earth could POSSIBLY be that strong.

Finally when surgery was complete, the red haired man confronted both Doctor Salt and Father Montgomery with something that they had never expected and would never see again at the non-profit humanitarian St. Luke's Charity Hospital.

"This is for your troubles, Doctor." The red-haired man said, his voice even and steady as he handed a ten thousand US-Dollar brick to Dr. Salt, who's eyes almost immediately fell out of his head.

Father Montgomery was equally dumbstruck as the red-haired, violet eyed man continued on as casually as if he had handed the doctor a business card.

"I know it's not much considering, but take it as a donation." The man continued, leaning down to pick up his large case while the laptop was under his arm. "With any luck, her family should be here to claim her in a few days. If you could, please hold on to her until then."

He turned then, heading for the door when something happened that surprised Dr. Salt even more.

"Wait a bit." Father Montgomery called out to the man, "We're very grateful for the donation, but may we ask who is making it?"

The hunter paused in his tracks for a moment, looking over his shoulder to the priest, a gleam in his eyes.

'What the hell,' he thought. It wasn't like the cameras in this hospital hadn't already seen him and notified the Vatican that he was here. It wasn't like an Iscariot Hit squad wasn't already on its way.

"Harker." He said, resuming his walk. "Jonathan Harker."

As he left, Dr. Salt, who had worked with Father Montgomery for over a year, could not understand why the good father had suddenly turned so pale.

"Father?" he asked, disturbed to see the priest so shaken.

"Burn the money…." Father Montgomery said, now breaking into a cold sweat. "It's not welcome here."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

In the darkness beneath the sands, evil stirred again.

Having spent eons in darkness, planning its moves with precision, this unfortunate twist was an unfortunate setback, but not at all unexpected.  
As immediate as its rage-fueled shockwave sundered the sand, a secondary wave of darkness had been unleashed. It was a power that was already spreading and would soon bring the World of Seth to its knees.

Now only one component was missing.

"Harrrrrkkkeerrrr…."


	2. Tour De Rome

Hellsing: Red Plague.

Author's Note: I AM BACK PEOPLES! Yes, I know this isn't Diablo, but rest assured that the beginning of the Second Act of Diablo IS in the works...If you are curious where I have been, please be sure to check out Diablo- Epic Behind the game on Friday, May 12th.  
Until then, I offer a humble new story that I hope will garner just as much love. I now present this token offering before Diablo... I present Hellsing: Red Plague.

Hellsing: Red Plague.

Chapter Two: Enter New Player: Harker

: March 10th:  
: England- Hellsing Agency Headquarters:

: 3:20 AM:

Sir Integra Hellsing, Diretor of the Hellsing Agency, shook her head as she lit a new cigar. The night outside her window was calm and peaceful, not a cloud in the starry, new moon sky.

Unfortunatly, the earlier event with Alucard and Seras had been more than a little disturbing. It was too bad really, it had been quiet since the "London Attack" Incident and the last remnants of the last great war were finally wiped out for good.

They had been enjoying the peace and quite here in Helsing manor for several months while London itself was being rebuilt. Now it seemed, that relaxation had caused them to miss something.

"Anything yet, Walter?" Integra asked, the speaker phone on her desk, irritation in her voice. It had already been several hours and she was no better informed than she had been when she laid down her Royal Flush against Alucard.

"Very little, Sir Hellsing." Walter answered in his usual defenitive manner. "All seems quiet on the british front. All law enforcement and military offices report nothing out of the ordinary."

"Ireland?" The Director asked, trying to get an idea of all the areas under her protection.

"The Northern Ireland Hellsing Office has been put on alert, but reports no supernatural activity. Likewise, security has been tightened along both the borders and in the cities. We will know the moment something happens on either of the british isles."

Integra shook her head.

There was something that they were missing.

It took more than nothing to put a vampire on the ground writing in pain. And it must have taken something rather "substancial" to unnerve the normally stone hearted and steel nerved No Life King.  
A thought came to mind...perhaps Integra Hellsing was thinking on too small of a scale.

"What about global events? Anything significant in the last fourty-eight hours?"

"Well, I thought you would never ask Sir Hellsing." Integra could hear the distinct moving of papers... Good old Walter, always one step ahead of her and five ahead of everyone else.  
"Southern China experienced several food riots in their major cities, including Hong Kong and Beigjing, several of the riots were put down by force and resulted in heavy casualities..."

"Tell me something relevant to OUR situation Walter."

"Oh all right. As far as I can tell in Europe, nothing major has happened. Same in America, I do believe everyone is still somewhat shaken up from that "Nazi Incident" several months ago. There is still massive reconstruction happening in the countries hardest hit."

"Alright then," Integra sagged when she realized she had already gone though one cigar and was reaching for another. Too wrapped up in attempting to solve this odd puzzle, she let her habit overwhelm her and lit another cigar.  
"How about our "Friends" In Rome?"

"Ah, getting the information now from both our Vatican Attache and my own sources. From what I can see, The Pope, most of the world's Cardnals, and the rest of the 'higher ups' in the Vatican are currently in Rome. As far as I can tell, this includes Iscariot's Father Enrico Maxwell..."

Integra rolled her eyes at the name, but said nothing, allowing Walter to continue.

"However...oh yes..this is interesting; It seems that my sources have uncovered some sort of activity. It appears that three Iscariot Silencing Units and four Heritic Specialist were dispatched by plane an hour ago. From all the information that has been gathered, we suspect that they should be landing in Cairo, Egypt within the next hour."

THIS made Integra raise an eyebrow. This was the sort of information she had been looking for.

A standard Silencing Unit was made up of Twelve fanatical, self-justified killers with a substansal amount of military training and heavy weaponry. Their singular purpose was to act as the Vatican's strong arm when facing organized enemies and armies.

Just the fact that Father Enrico Maxwell, Head of Iscariot, had sent over thrity-six Iscariot soldiers into non-catholic territory rose suspition.

The fact that they were lead by FOUR heritic Specialist; Elite Vatican-Sanctioned Assassins, sent up a signal flare brighter than the sun.  
Integra was as familiar with Special Agency: Iscariot's procedure as any outsider alive and knew that Heritic Specialist were only called in against the most dangerous of mortal enemies. Terrorist, Cult Leaders, and Influencial Political extremist were their most common targets and the Vatican normally took great care in selecting the right agent for the job. What was most strange about this was that Heritic Specialist almost always worked in pairs and without any sort of support. And even with their lack of numbers, it was VERY rare for a Heritic Specialist to be killed on assignment.  
Why would two Heritic Specialist teams be assigned the same mission and be given command of thirty six soldiers? Surely the Vatican was as hurt for human resources as Hellsing, after all, they too had suffered in The "Nazi Attack". They would not waste resources or their soldier's time unless it was important.

What could have possibly caught Iscariot's eye in the Land of the Pharohs?

"In anticipation of your next question..." Walter's voice over the speaker phone broke Integra's train of thought. "The Priest in charge of the operation is one "Father Tyler Rex" And there is no word out of Eygptian Authorities of any murders that follow vampiric profiles or imprisioning of any Vatican Officals. In other words, we have no idea why Iscariot is moving."

Integra sighed again.  
Walter's sources were good, very good to have gotten this sort of information this fast. But they were still outside the vatican's walls looking in.

"What about 'The Paladin', Walter?"

"Father Alexander Anderson is currently in a small village north of Rome."

Integra breathed in her cigar quickly as she pondered this. If the Regenrator, Iscariot's greatest weapon, was not being used, that ruled out vampires, werewolves, or (heaven forbid) deamons.

But still, what ever Iscariot was after must have been dangerous to send so many men. And ANYTHING that put Alucard on edge had to be big.

What frustrated her most was that the Vatican might know something if they were sending so many troops. They HAD to know something.  
Now, Hellsing had to know what they were after.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:Cairo, Egypt- St. Luke's Charity Hospital:

: 5:20 AM:

"I am telling you, Father." Dr. Salt said sternly, growing intesnly frustrated by what was fast becoming an inquisition. "I never saw this man before last night and I DON'T know where he went."

"Indeed!" Father Montgumery, who was also losing patience, insisted. "Forgive me, Father Rex, but I called you because we saw him HERE! We do not know where we went after he left."

"You saw him..." Father Tyler Rex, a routund yet agile looking man with salt and pepper hair and a chisled face, inspected the doctor and fellow man of the cloth. "... But you did not attempt to 'detain' him?"

Once again, Dr. Salt was lost. Between the inquisition and the manner to which they refered to the long since departed Jonahan Harker, he was getting the impression that he was some sort of criminal or worse, a terrorist.

But if that was true, then why bother to contact the Priesthood rather than the Eygptian authorities or Interpol perhaps.

"ASIDE from the fact that it is not our place to detain anybody and I highly doubt we would have been very effective..." Father Montgumery answered sharply. "This is a humanitarian hospital, set in place and Concencrated by his Holiness PERSONALLY over thirty years ago. We operate and continue operation under his blessings."

At this, Father Rex deflated visibily.

"Yes... forgive me Father." He apologized with a low bow, "It is just that this is a... very sensitive subject."

"Apparently..." Dr. Salt's comment oozed with sarcasm. The good doctor did not like being left in the dark.

It did not help ease his distaste when one of the 'priests' that had come with Father Rex came out of the patients hospice. This priest looked strange and contrasted with his long, free flowing dark hair and his face an unshowing stone mask.

"Wha...What were you doing back there?"

"Forgive me doctor," The priest nodded his head slightly to Dr. Salt, his voice tinged with a hint of apology. "I merely had a few questions for your patient."

"I thought I said she was not ready for visitors. Besides, I doubt that she could help you very much since she doesn't speak English."

"I am a man of many talents." The preist smiled warmly as he moved around the room until he stood behind Father Rex, placing a hand on his shoulder. "However you are correct, she knew nothing and I left her to rest."

"Well then," Father Rex shrugged, a new shine in his eyes "I suppose that is all that we can do now. We shall leave you to your hospital, and I do apologize for the inconvenience."

Without another word, the two priests of the Vatican, the agents of the special agency Iscariot, swept out of St. Luke's Charity Hospital and onto the streets of Cairo.

Doctor Salt grimaced as they left.  
"What was that about?" the doctor asked, turning and heading into the patients hospice to check on his young patient.

"To be honest, I'm not all that sure myself." Father Montgumery told the doctor, walking with him until they reached the young girl's bedside.  
She was asleep now, resting while her casted, crushed arm on her chest.

But what drew the doctor's attention was not her tended injuries... but the small red splotches that dotted her face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What did you learn?" Father Rex asked his subordient.

"Father Maxwell was right." the younger Iscariot soldier answered. "It was Harker. He was hunting vampires and the girl was caught up in the fight. Something about a 'ritual'. She didn't seem to understand what was going on around her."

"That is for the better, She might be able to get on with her life." Rex wiped his brow. Damn that man. That... heritic. Bringing innocents into the battle to make himself seem more the hero.  
"Do we know where he is now?"

The Iscariot soldier brought a hand up to his right ear, focusing on the reports that came though the comunicator in his ear, hidden behind his hair.

"Our main team reports that they have Harker on a surveillance tape at the airport boarding a plane to Brazil less that an hour ago."

"South America again?" Rex was more than a little surprised. "He already has the death penalty on his head in two South American countries, why the hell woud he head back there?"

"Last place we would look for him?" The soldier asked.

"He's not one to run away." Rex thought for a moment. He had been playing this game of cat and mouse with the heritic for over three years. "The bastard must be looking for something in Brazil"

"Do we pursue?"

"Absolutely." Rex smirked. This time, they would be able to catch him. Now all of the time that he had spent tracking and studying his prey would pay off.

"Should we alert Interpol as well, Father Rex?" The soldier asked suddenly. "Iscariot is not the only agency that wants to find him."

"No... This is a matter left between us and the Heritic.. they will not understand." Rex shook his head. There was more to it of course, for him...this was personal. "Get the entire force to the airport, we leave at once."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"They are probably gathering their forces and heading to Brazil now." Jonathan Harker uttered amusedly under his breath quietely as his plane touched down.

If Iscariot had sent Rex, then the Red-Headed hunter knew that the pudgy Iscariot bastard wouldn't think twice about the chance to corner him in a land where he was a known public enemy.  
Rex's reasoning would be that South America would be the LAST place that his nemisis would return, and thus was the best place to find him.  
But Rex would be wrong of course, as always... there was ONE place that hated him more.

"We are now landing atLeonardo Da Vinci International Airport, The local time is 7:33am" The captain's voice came from overhead, prompting Harker to close and shut down his laptop as the plane skitted to a halt.  
Harker paused for a moment and tugged at the white collar around his neck as he thought about what he had come to do. He didn't like coming back and asking for help like this, and every fiber of his being told the vampire hunter that there was NO chance that he would even be able to MAKE his request without somebody dying a horrible bloody death. And that same fiber told Harker that he would likely be fleeing for the border and away from Iscariot and Interpol alike before the day was out.

And yet in that one corner of his mind, there was the part that couldn't wait to see how it turned out.

"We are disembarking, Father. Would you like some help with your case?" A flight attendent asked him in Italian, smiling warmly and trying not to blush.  
Harker had to stop himself from cringing at the title...That was the worse part of this particular disguise...well, aside from REALLY pissing the Vatican off when he did it.

"No, thank you." Harker replied in English, not surprised when the young lady looked inquisitively at him, prompting him to switch his language.

"No...I am fine, thank you" He re-iterated in a rough Italian, standing up and taking the large metal case out of the overhead compartment.

"We hope you enjoyed your flight, Father." The attendent nodded and smiled again, "And that you will fly with us again."

'Yeah...sure, ASSUMING there is a next time for me.' Harker thought, nodding politely and heading for the exit, getting nods and minor bits of praise and blessing. Getting past the customs agents was no problem at all because of the black outfit and white collar that he so disrespectfully wore as he headed for the heart of Catholic power...

Rome.

He had an old friend to visit.

--------------------------------------------------------

:The Vatican City, Rome Italy:

:Office of Father Enrico Maxwell, Director of Iscariot XIII:

: 8:05am:

"How can you justify sending over fourty of our champions away from here?" Archadius, High Cardinal of Rome, had difficulty keeping the outrage from his voice as his hands gripped the mohagony desk. Stairing back at him, with a smug assuredness that had so often unnerved the cardnial acting in full force, Father Maxwell, still recovering from his 'near-disasterous' assualt on the unholy forces that attacked Britain simply shrugged.

The near death experience had done little to curb his arrogence it seemed.

"Our Justification is apparent in our Lords work. With greater matters settled, I would not expect that you would object to our reigning in a known terrorist and heritic." Maxwell remarked, stifling a coughing sputter as he guestered for the Cardnial to take the unfilled seat in front of the desk, beside the much younger priest that had also come.

"You have a gift for such things of course..." The elder cardinal started. "...But even you must admit, Father Maxwell, that this movement is paramount to 'Overkill'. So much? For one man...and not even a vampire?"

"I merely wish to assure that there are no margins for error." Maxwell stood, pulling a crutch from the side of his desk to aid in his standing. "We have had 'incidents' with this particular enemy before and I assure you, 40 men is a fraction of what I would send if Iscariot had not suffered so in our last engagement."

"Who is this man?" The younger priest, Father Richard Bendict by name, asked.

Maxwell smiled. Father Bendict had only recently become a part of the inner circle that knew of Iscariot's existance within the priesthood and was still somewhat shocked by the fact that the Chatholic HAD an elite death dealing task force.

"Johnathan Harker...a very Dangerous individual indeed." Maxwell pulled him self back to a desk and pulled a file from the top, handing it to Father Bendict who opened and pursed the contained material.

After a moment of reading...he balked.

"I..Is this 'THE' Johnathan Harker?" Bendict asked, "From 'Bram Stoker' Dracula?"

"Oh no, of course not." Maxwell shook his head as he leaned against his desk. "The original Johnathan Harker was born in London circa 1860 and was killed in America 1896. In 1904, his second son, also named Johnathan, took up what then became the family trade."

"Family Trade?" Bendict looked up, already suspecting the answer.

"Vampire Hunting."

"Ah."

"In the past, The Harker family has proven to be valuable allies and up until about 4 years ago, we had one as a fully fledged and star member of Iscariot."

"Alright...so what happened?" Bendict asked, flipping though the file.

"The torch was passed." Maxwell answered, "Johnathan Harker the fourth was slain on assignment and his offspring took the family in a very different direction."

"He is a Heritic..." Cardinal Archadius closed his eyes, his arms crossed in frustration. "A wild cannon, a renegade who first went against the direct wishes of the Pope himself and then broke from Iscariot altogether to pursue his own ends though whatever unholy way he could. Pagan Magics, demonics, and only Lord knows what else. He seems well funded, although how we do not know, and is able to travel the globe almost at whim. When Iscariot has confronted him in the past..."

"We have tried to reign him in on several occasions when we have been able to find him." Maxwell interrupted, knowing that this was a sore subject for the higher ups in the Church Heirarchy. "But each such mission ended in Failure at best. Even though he is also wanted by International Police, his movements are erratic, unpredictible, and for lack of a better word...brilliant."

"If this man is so dangerous, why not send Heritic hunters, or perhaps your 'Trump-Card'."

Maxwell sighed, annoyed at having to answer such questions, but also understanding the need to do so.

"Even our finest hunters have had no luck against him and his arcane abilities. The Paladin, on the other hand, is... unsuited for this particular assignment."

----------------------------------------------------

:20 miles north of Rome, Italy:

:St. Vincint's Orphange:

: 8:20am:

" 'Ey now!" Alexander Anderson, a scarred and bespecticaled blond priest looking in his mid-fourties rushed into the fray among the young boys, pulling the larger children off of the smaller. "Wat 'ave aye told ye boies aboot feiting (translation: What have I told you boys about fighting)

"Best listen to him kids." A familiar voice came from behind Alex, his nerves suddenly launching to full awareness in these familiar surroundings. "He's ALOT meaner than he looks."

Alex chuckled to himself, knowing full and well who was behind him before he turned around to face the red-haired scoundrel.

"Ahhh...Harker." The Paladin shook his head, as much surprised as he could have been. " Eh, ye kids git yerselves inside."

"Yes Father Alex." Came the reply as all four of the children quickly retreated to the orphanage's main building.

After just a few moments, Alexander Anderson, Iscariot's Regenerator and ultimate warrior, stood face to face with a man known in Catholic Circles as "The Heritic".

"Ye know... Ye've got goots cooming back 'ere. Las' aye checked, ye were wanted dead or alive by Interpol, Just dead by word of the Pope, and ye got yerself into a bit of trouble in Peru was it? Got a bounty on yer hed there as well." 

"What can I say...I'm socially inept." Harker smiled, taking a step closer to the regenerator, his demeanor surprisingly calm.

"And dey arr sa'in ye made a pact wit de devil, turnin' ta witch-craft."

"Read a few books, order some things from a wiccan catalogue and suddnely people start calling me a Warlock... -tsk-tsk- Alex, really... WITCH-Craft? I may dabble in a few arcane arts, but I am HARDLY a witch. And you taught me better than to make deals with devils."

"Ye know...Aye should tri ta detain ye at least...or kills ye at worse."

"Yeah... you should...but that would set SUCH a bad example for the children... Wouldn't it, Uncle Alex."

"Bah...bloody heritic." Anderson's mirth stolen, he crosses his arms, daring the worse from his unexpected guest.

"Awwww, Uncle Alex...that's no way to talk to your godson." Harker matched the elder's stance.

The two warriors watched each other closely, taking in each move and watching for threats. The Regenerator's legendary scowl set against a precarious smirk.

And then they both bursts out laughing.

"Ahhh, it's gud ta see ya, lad." Alexander Anderson stepped forwards, wrapping the fellow vampire hunter in a great bear hug that forced the young Harker's breath from his body. "Ye jus 'AD ta cum and sampal a bit O ol' Irish cookien, dinna cha."

"To be honest, Alex... I could have gone the rest of my life without ever seeing another peice of..."

"Aye Gots sum Haggis alrady whipped up fer brekfust." The fearless immortal smiled, releasing the red-haired hunter and making for the orphanage's main building.

"Ha...ggis..." Jonathan Harker, the fifth of his line, sighed outright, shaking his head as he followed the certifiably insane regenerator.

"Aye...ye cun tall me aboot dat 'Deamon' evraboody is sayin' crooped up in..China was it?"

"Mongolia..." Harker corrected, "Actually, Alex... I came here for a different reason."

----------------------

:St. Vincint's Orphanage, Kitchen.:

: 9:50am:

"Sue..." Alexander Anderson took a bite out of his favored dish, the sheep based sausage and onion mix cooked in the stomach of a sheep. "Aftar ye left, tha place,... wat? Blew up?"

"I'm not sure." Harker answered, his first peice of untouched Haggis LONG since cold as he had related his most recent and frustrating encounter with the group of Medians in central Eygpt. "I didn't see any explosives rigged in the complex during my walkthrough, and besides, I don't know of anything that could do what I saw. It was like the sand...swallowed the entire ruin, and shot out like a shock wave."

"An ye thinken dat this..." Anderson held up the photoes that Harker had shown him of of the enigmatic writing he had found inside the ruin. " 'As sumthin ta do wit it? Wall, aye cun undar stand dat, de Damn vamps arr tricky. But whay diddya cum hear, me lad. Ye know gud an well Maxwell wall nevar let ye use the Iscariot Databaose? An ye should be knowin' aye canna do it fur ye."

"I had to ask... I didn't have much choice..." Harker admitted, leaning back dangerously in his chair. "I have a few contacts in America that I would normally go to with questions about the occult and ancient mysteries...but after what happened..."

" It's unly been six mooths lad, Da wurld needs time ta heal, lad." Anderson's expression turned serious, his chest aching for a moment with the memory of his own part of the Battle of London. "Da Nazi Attack shook da entire civilized wurld. Lundon's jus beginnin ta rebuild an' America is tryin ta keep it's power strung. Add ta dat tha panic in Fronce, Anti-Germany riotings, an dozens O' warlards tryin to pick up da peices and duplicat wat dat damn Nazi cooked oop. Peopals arr sccared, da miltaries weakened... an ouur faith tested. An' wat's wurse, sum occultists are startin ta git it. Rumor's O Iscariot are bounding da Intarnet, ...Vampire-Lore...Deamon thesis'. Humanity is beginnin ta suspect dat de thins that go bump in da night are still thar. An dere are JUS enough left-ovars from da Nazi's armies ta prove such a thang real."

Harker stayed silent as the old warrior sighed. He knew that the regenerator was right of course, those who knew where to look could find all the evidence, and despite the various secular and divinity propaganda that the Nazi remenant was a terrorist gang of simple mortals, the rumors were not going away.  
All it would take would be a few credible people to put two and two together and announce their findings to the world... Then, the fear would begin again. And the monsters that were now only the problem of a few special agencies would explode outward, the Masqurade that they had lived under broken.

An all new war of Humanity against the Super-Natural.

"Whare were ye?" Alex asked, lifting his glass.

"Japan." Harker replyed softly, his eyes diverted. By comparison to the rest of the world, the orient had suffered little, only warrenting a single Nazi Zepplin which attacked Tokyo. Aiding the local authroities and a secret society of time-forgotten Lie-Ling (spirit Hunters) who had managed to turn back the few super-natural troops the over-weight fuher had set against the Isles of the Rising Sun. But on the global scale, they had little impact against the threat, which had been defeated over the skys of London itself. He had heard rumors that Alexander Anderson, the Paladin, had been in the Heart of London, the epicenter and hardest hit target of the Nazi's. Exactly what had occurred was little more than rumor, and judging by those rumors, he knew better than to ask Anderson personally what had happened.

Although Harker knew the question was on his tongue, Alex refrained from asking weather Jonathan had fought against the threat. His merriment at his Godson's 'homecoming' stolen by memories of what had nearly happened in London. How humanity had almost fallen to a glutton hanging on to barbaric ideals of an era better forgotten.

The silence stood in the air for a moment, growing stale in the ears of Harker until he heard Alex muttering a familiar mantra.

"We are God's representatives, earthly divine agents o' divine punishment. Our mission is tor destroy down to the last wee bit of those fools who would would oppose our good."

Alex paused at the end, leaving the last word hanging in the air.

And Harker watched his eyes, keeping his silence until finally, with a sigh, the regenerator closed his declaration

"AMEN..."

"You were right, Alex." Harker shook his head, standing up and reaching for his coat. "I shouldn't have come."

Seeming chestfallen, Anderson looked up at the hunter. He was older than the regenerator cared to remember, not just in terms of his physical prowess, but also in his eyes. this so-called 'Heritic' had fought and won many battles in the short four years the two of them had been seperated. And yet the one thing that Alex felt was most important part of any who stalked the creatures of the night was still lacking.

He still lacked Faith...

"Tall me, John..." Alex folded his hands together as Harker turned to leave. " When was yer last confession?"

The question stopped Harker dead in his tracks...but he did not turn around or even look over his shoulder.

"About a lifetime ago." He answered honestly.

Alexander Anderson sighed again, his voice becoming more steady.

"Ye know I'll 'ave ta cull Maxwell when ye leave."

"I know." 

"He'll try ta stup ye, prubably kill ye."

"He'll try...I know."

"Aye dunna 'ave a choice in da mattar."

"I know, Alex. Still...it was worth it to see you again."

"Aye dunna suppose sayin' yer father wouldn't approve woul'd 'elp?"

"No, it wouldn't."

"Wall den..." Alex stroked his chin for a moment, weighing the risk of what he was considering. "Ye know aye canna 'elp ye...but aye know sumone who 'MIGHT'..."

THAT got Jonathan Harker's attention, turning him to face the regenerator with a curious look in his unique purple eyes.

'_The eyes are new...' _Anderson thought to himself, filtering the accent in his head. _'Mayhaps a bit more than a Bit O dabbling in the Arcane'_

"Tall me lad... 'ave ye evar heard O' _'Hellsing'_?"

------------------------------------------

:The Vatican City, Rome Italy:

:Office of Father Enrico Maxwell, Director of Iscariot XIII:

: 10:05am:

The ringing of Father Maxwell's personal phone interrupted the continued debate and reminder of Cardinal Archadius disapproval of his actions.

"Just a moment Cardinal. Excuse me." Maxwell was glad for the interruption to this pointless meeting, which had already made him miss his daily physical training regiment.

Then he picked up the phone.

"This is Maxwell..."

Neither the Cardinal or his aid could make out the face voice on the other end of the phone...but both noted the Iscariot Director's sudden paleness as his body went rigid

"WHAT? WHEN?"

...  
"YOU LET HIM LEAVE?"

Father Bendict noticed that Maxwell's freehand was cletching his cruch to the point that the stressed wood was beginning to splinter.

"WHERE DID HE GO?""NO! 'WE' will discuss this later. Stay RIGHT where you are." Maxwell slammed the phone down on the receiver, nearly breaking it before picking up the line again and dialing out, the frustration almost setting his hair on fire as his pale face began to take on a wonderful shade of purple.

"Wulfe...is Yimoko with you?"

"Good, take them as well. Tell Yimoko her sparring partner from India has come to Rome."

"I don't CARE who sees! Your orders are to stop him before he reaches Divinci International! He will likely be in a Taxi and coming in from the north."

"Now See here, Maxwell!" The cardinal stood up following the priests last directive.

"I Don't have time for debate, Cardinal. This is my perogitive! Now if you don't mind...I have to get on the phone with Interpol and Divinci International Security."

"What is going on here, Maxwell?"

Father Enrico Maxwell gritted his teeth, looking up at the pompous cardinal with obvious distaste.

"The Heritic you accused me of Overkilling slipped past our men, sent them on a wild goose chase, and is now in Rome. Now if you will excuse me...I have a job to do."

---------------------------------------------------  
:Rome Italy:

: 3 miles from Divinci International Airport:

: 12:00pm:

"Are you certain you want out here, sir?" The cab driver asked in slow Italian of his American passenger, wondering why anybody who had paid for travel to the Airport would suddenly wish to get out at an abandoned textile factory.

"Absolutely." Harker answered, stepping out, his large metalic breifcase in hand as he stepped out and closed the door, not even bothering to ask for the money that he had already paid.

Eyes closed, Jonathan Harker walked up to the padlocked gate of the abandoned factory and, with a touch and word, the lock fell open, clattering into the ground and allowing the gate to squeak open.

The Taxi driver might not have noticed the three black sudans following them, but he had. And this would be a much more acceptible venue for what he knew was about to come than the Airport itself.  
Refusing to Hesitate, Harker stepped into the factory grounds, quickly disappearing in the ruins of the old factory as the three vehicles ground to a halt, parking nearby as they opened up.

"He saw us..." Heinkel Wulfe, perhaps one of Iscariot's finest Heritic Specialist stepped out of the lead vehicle's driver side while his partner, the already feiry eyed oriental woman Yomokio pulled out of the passenger side.

"And you expected any less?" Yumie snapped, eager to engage. Having already having surpressed her more sensible personality, Yumiko, the beserker side of the normally sweet hearted japanese woman was steaming in a way that made even the vetran Heritic Specialist Hinkle's skin crawl. Although, given what had happened in their previous engagement with this particular target, he could not say he was surprised.

From the other two vehicles, six lower grade Iscariot guards stepped out, each dressed in casual wear concealing multiple hand-held weapons.

"No, I did not." Wulfe pulled a cigirette to his mouth, his heavy german accent flavoring his dialogue. Honestly, he had not expected the Heritic to take so long in realizing they were there...but now he realized that Harker must have been watching for a place to either slip away from the pursuiers, or to engage them on his own terms.

And given Yumie's current temperment, he CERTAINLY hoped that Harker was planning on engaging them.

"Alvight." Heinkel sighed, puffing twice on this cigerret before throwing it to the ground. "Ve move. Target is to ve killed on Sight."

"By me..." Yumie declared quietly before moving forward.

----- ---- ---- -----

"Spread out... ve find him quickly, ja." Henkile whispered as the Iscariot team cautiously entered the dark, forboding factory. Shadows mixed with the mid-day sun, creating bright and shady patches all over the floors and walls.  
Certainly a dangerous place if they were ambushed.

Ever alert, Henkile looked about.  
He and Yumie both had some idea of what they might expect from this advisary, having faced him before. But still, Wulfe dispised the idea of countering Harker in this environment and, had he the authority to do so, would have scrubbed the mission before following. But his orders were to stop Harker BEFORE he reached the Airport, a task made all the more daunting as they had to scrap the training of the six Iscariot guards now with them and actually track the Heritic down. It was unknown WHY Harker had taken so long to get back into Rome, but when they had finally found him getting into that Cab, Wulfe had been afraid their only option would have been to crash the Taxi, killing the innocent driver and Harker in one swoop.

He had thanked God that he had not been asked to do that.

Yumie was even more determined than ever, her usual 'devil-may-care' attitude replaced by a sneer and the obvious contempt. In her mind, she had suffered far more than Wulfe had in their last, failed attempt to capture this renegade, so it had been music to her ears when she had been given the order to use lethal force.

So poised and ready for action were the Heritic Specialist and Iscariot Guards alike, that there was not one of them that did not jump right out of their skin as the silence was shattered.

"Moths to the Flame... They burn all the same..." A familiar, sing-songy voice recited what sounded like a childrens rhyme. The sound, echoing thoughout the "Sent off to war...the knights kill for their Lord... Now they prove their faith... by fighting off a wraith..." 

"rrrrrRRRRRR WHERE ARE YOU HARKER!" Yumie was unable to hold the anger in, stepping forward with her razor sharp katana in hand and eager for blood.

Wulfe stayed quiet, noting the chill in the air. It was the middle of summer, so it was likely that, using the omnipotent sounding voice as a distraction, Harker was setting something up. Looking around, he took note of the faces of the men that had come with them.  
They were strangely un-nerved... one sweating bullets.

These men may not have had the training or experience to match an Iscariot Heavy team, but they were not novices to battle either.  
Harker was up to something.

And exactly what became apparent a moment later when one of the men turned about, screaming and firing into what Wulfe saw as an empty stretch of abandoned factory. The others followed suit, turning and firing off multiple rounds before realizing that the area was dark and empty.

"HOLD YOUR VIRE!" Wulfe ordered turning about just in time to hear a 'snap' from above. Not wasting time to look up, Wulfe dived forward, grabbing the absorbed Yumie as he went into a roll. less than a second later, the large crate crashed into the ground, barely missing several of the guards but still pelting them with splintered wood shards.

After that, Wulfe lost all control of the situation.  
One bolt of fire seemed to streak down from the ceiling, striking into the broken, empty crates and almost immediately catching the fractured boards on fire. Blinded as they were for a moment, the confusion only added to the sudden rush when the group of guards that had been thrown backward saw a red-haired man with angular features, a white shirt covered by a deep black coat, and imaculate white gloves accenting them in front of them.   
Feature by feature, an exact copy of the photo they had been given of their quarry.

So of course...they opened fire.

Wulfe was stunned for a few seconds after the crate had been set on fire, the confusion only mounting as all six of the Iscariot Guards opened fire. The horror that lit up their faces when they realized not a single well-placed bullet had hit it's mark, was beyond Wulfe's sight as well as he pulled himself up, both he and Yumie seperated from the group and unable to see past the fire.  
What they could hear however over the crackling of the large crate was Harker's almost lyrical voice.

"Careful boys. Dangerous toys are fun...but you could get hurt..."

What came next could only be discribed as a deafening shot, as if a dozen cannons were set off all at once in the enclosed space. Wulfe's hands went straight for his ears, grateful both that he was a bit farther away from the enormous claps of noise and that the communicator in his ear seemed to block out the sound, causing his ears to ring, but having no other real side-effect.

From what he and Yumie could see with the flames of the crate dying down now that the inital igniter had lost power, was that all six of the guards were on the ground, incapacitated as they cletched their heads.

But beyond them, there was nothing to be found.

"Ahhhhh Yumie. And Wulfe as well. Good to see you again." The voice came, a bit dampened due to the ringing in their ears, but still there... behind them. 

Turning about, Wulfe with his gun at the ready and Yumie with a blade high turned about to see a empty handed, smiling, and all too friendly Jonathan Harker.

"How are you guys? I don't think we've seen each other since...India wasn't it?" 

"RRAAARRRRR!" Yumie charged forward, her blade out and already cutting the air in a sophisticated kata. Wulfe took aim, his weapon pointed straight at the unmoving and easy target. 

The shot was easy...  
Too easy.

Sighing, Wulfe leaned off the trigger, remembering what had happened before when he had taken that 'too easy' shot at Harker last time...

His gun had blown up in his hands.

Wulfe did not understand the nature of Harker's abilities, or how he could do the things that he was doing, but he knew enough to realize that even if the gun fired, he wouldn't hit. At worse, the bullet could SOMEHOW swerve and strike Yumie.

Swearing under his breath, Wulfe went over a personal opinion in his head that he would never let go of.

"Damn...I HATE majik."

Yumie, her fury unrelenting, struck out at the unarmed Heritic, not wanting to give him a moment to react.  
Down came her powerful swing.. cutting through air as the Red-Haired man nimbly dodged to the side, tapping her in the shoulder to mock the opening in her defense as he rolled aside, coming back up to his feet only two meters away.

"Ooohhh Yumie... don't tell me you are still mad about what happened in India." He cooed, his voice seeming sinceire, but in her state, Yumie took it as a verbal stab at her.

"RRRRRRRR" She growled, the blade coming up and cutting across in a blindingly intricate kata. "DAMN YOU!"

She slashed...  
and he dodged...  
She swiped..  
and he ducked...

"You know... you COULD thank me. Or at Least try to use the blunt side...I don't like sharp things." Harker smiled playfully, going a step further to shut his eyes as he back stepped out of another slash. 

Yumie was pushing for all she was worth, and yet Harker hadn't even broken a sweat. He just smiled and dodged again as she came down in what she had always considered a death-dealing spin. 

Nobody could move like that...

"DAMNIT! HOLD STILL HEATHEN!" She panted, an inner part of her nagging and wondering WHY she had gained no assistance from Wulfe.

"It was JUST a kiss..." Harker shrugged in front of her, his tone apologetic.

THAT sent her off the deep end, thrashing and slashing wildly in a fashion that NO mortal man could hope to dodge. 

'JUST A KISS' HE SAID? JUST A KISS? when they had met in India, He had worn her out in a twenty minute battle, slapped her blade aside in a full out fight that would have been to the death, and kissed her full on the lips, open mouthed...tongue and all.

Ironcially, her first kiss.

And what was worse...she had melted into him when he had kissed her...dropping her blade and going weak at the knees. She had actually RETURNED it! She couldn't deny that she had ENJOYED it..

And that was what had made it all the worse.

Wulfe had not told anybody about that particular part of their defeat, and she thanked him so often for that, as he was the only other witness... but now, he was mocking her so openly. Her skill seemingly USELESS against even this unarmed man. She could not even BEGIN to comprehend HOW he was dodging her impossible to mark and predict strikes.

"YUMIE! BEHIND YOU!" Wulfe's voice cried out, causing her to instinctually pull out of her slash and go into a spin.  
She couldn't figure out how, but her spin was stopped as the man who had been in front of her the entire time was suddenly right behind her, so close that he was inside her swing, her arm stopped by one hand and her body movement ground to a halt when he pressed himself against her.  
Unable to think or react to what her brain told her was impossible, Yumie was about to scream out when she felt a finger pushing up on her chin... followed by a warmness that defied description that suddenly pressed against her lips, making them tingle with electricity.

First...she whimpered... her rage suddenly falling away as Yumie fell from her dominence and was replaced by Yumiko. The blade clattered to the floor as strength left her and all that held her was the strong arms of the man that had been so bold.

Unable to stop herself, Yumiko melted into the man, feeling her legs go weak once more.

And then... blackness enveloped her world as she lost consiousness.

Harker righted himself, the illusion that had been facing Yumie before fading into nothing as the Iscariot woman's body slumped against him.  
While he had never been particularly fond of the means of delivery for that spell, he was more than a bit pleased with the results. He respected Yumiko Tagaki a great deal and had known her before his fall from Iscariot.

Most certainly he did not wish to harm or kill her.

Setting the limp Death Nun's body on the ground, Harker snickered when he heard the pistol behind him cock.

"Put that thing away Wulfe... You should know better by now."

"Ve are here to stop you." Wulfe stated clearly, his trigger pressed to an expert's edge, less than a nano-second from firing.

"You know Wulfe, one of the reasons that I left left Iscariot after my father died was because it was just TOO black and white. Nothing is that easy." Harker stated, as a matter of factly as he stood up, back still to the Heritic Specialist's gun. "If Maxwell tells you I'm evil...then I'm evil..simple as that. And yet all of your men are still alive, even though it WOULD have been much easier to kill them all... same with Yumie. A knife to the spine would have been MUCH easier to deliver than that kiss."

Harker turned around to face Wulfe, a young german who was more than five years his senior and smiled when he noted how Wulfe's finger had eased off the trigger.

"I'm leaving now, Wulfe. And I think it is only fare to warn you that while fun is fun, I have a flight to catch. I'm doing exactly what you people should want and getting the hell out of Rome... no more questions asked."

"I haff one." Wulfe lowered his gun, realizing that with Harker acting so relaxed, there MUST have been something wrong with his weapon that would have kept this 'Mage' from being harmed by the bullet. "Vhy did you come back?"

"I was going to ask a favor...but seeing how you treat guests, I realized that was a mistake." Harker answered, tugging on his collar and turning to leave. "Also, if you are wondering why I took so long getting out here, I needed to stop and visit my Dad." He added, walking away and heading out the doors of the factory, stepping over the still incapacitated Iscariot guards on the way and Leaving Heinkel Wulfe to see to his partner and team.

Once outside, Harker breathed a sigh of relief.

This time around, he had not had time between dealing out distractions and keeping Yumie busy at the same time. And with his back to Wulfe, and being in that crouching position, Harker would not have been able to bring up his normal gun defenses in time.

If Wulfe HAD fired this time... He would not have missed.

----------------------------------------------------------

Alexander Anderson wondered for a time, waiting for Maxwell's return so that he could be debriefed and thought about what he had told his Godson. Memories of the days that he had been friends with Jonathan Harker the Fourth...Long before he became 'The Paladin.'

As he had said all along, Harker was a good kid that wanted to do the right thing, but his reckless streak had set him astray. Now, with nowhere to turn, Alex had sent him into the hands of people he considered to be dangerous enemies... the Director Integra Hellsing...

But for his part, he wasn't going to let Harker go completely unanswered for what sins he had commited.

If he were to have forgiven John completely for having skipped out on them... he would have told him about The Director Hellsing's 'pets'.

----------------------------------------------------------

:Leonardo Di Vinci International Airport:  
:1:05pm:

"You have him!" Maxwell half hobbled, half sprinted down the corridor, hating every moment with the crutch as he tried to keep up with the Head of the Airport security.

"My men and several members of the Roman Police have him in a taxi just outside. The Taxi is surrounded and so far there has been no movement."

"Tell your men to wait until I get there, I want too see that bastard taken down."

"All men, hold your position" The hefty, but experienced Cheif of Secuirty of Di Vinci international was glad that this was almost over, already he had flights to Paris, London, New York, Miami and Rio De Jinario that were all held up by this 'terrorist' threat. He had of course given the green light now that the suspect was being apprehended, but still, such things were not easy to accomplish.

Once outside, Maxwell, who was now observing on account of his Holiness the Pope under authority that Harker was an anti-vatican terrorist moved just into sight, noting with an almost certain air of glee the one of a kind red-hair and priest outfit that Harker had been spotted wearing after reviewing Airport security videos surrounded by no less than two dozen armed police and security. His hands on his head, Maxwell figured not even his reported 'arcane' abilities would easily get Harker out of this. 

"Take him." Maxwell nodded enthusiastically.

When Heinkel had reported that his team had been 'neutralized' Maxwell had given up hope of catching the Heritic while he was on Italian soil (and thus out of Interpol's juristiction) But now, with a newfound respect for the Roman Law Enforcement, Maxwell watched as the red-haired man was pulled from and throw into the car... patted down immediately while his trademark metal case was taken and tossed on top of the taxi.

He was enthusiastic...

Until his hair came off tilt, leaning a bit on his head...

"What the devil..." Maxwell cobbled closer, pushing past the policemen and reaching the suspect.  
"HARKER!" He pushed the man over...

And revealed a young italian, no more than twenty, with an amazingly light complexion wearing a priest outfit and what looked like a specially designed red-haired wig.

"Mother mary... please don't kill me..." The boy was near to tears, the wig falling off completely to reveal short kept blond hair.

"What the HELL are you doing here!" Maxwell could barely keep from spitting as he screamed, the police looking back and forth confused as to why this priest was interrogating their 'suspect'.

"Look...I'm sorry father...I'm sorry.. This guy gave me five hundred euro to put this on and wait for somebody."

"WHO?" Father Maxwell shouted, his tone enough to melt steel.

Guns still on him, the young Italian taxi driver reached up slowly, unlocking the metal case and reaching in slowly, in a non-threating manner to withdraw... a peice of posterboard stapled to a plastic stake.

In one movement, the young italian held up the sign.

_'Maxwell'_

At that moment...four long delayed planes took off, the roar of their engines reaching the each heading outside the boarders of Italy.

In seconds...the roar of four enormous passenger liners were drowned out by the scream of one priest.


End file.
